


Noble

by PeppermintPeak



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bilbo Remains In Erebor, BAMF Bilbo Baggins, Dragon Bilbo Baggins, F/M, Kinda, M/M, More tags to be added, Time Travel Fix-It, Un-Beta’d, Undecided Relationship(s), We Die Like Men, mention of Lotr stuff, some lore, stereotypical plot is stereotypical, the valar like to change their minds at the last second
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:34:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22255750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppermintPeak/pseuds/PeppermintPeak
Summary: Bilbo had kept a secret, had taken an oath to never reveal it. It was an oath to his people and the valar, but now he had lost so much and it was much too late to say it now. He would have to thank the valar later for allowing him another chance.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 116





	1. End of the beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for poor formatting I posted this on mobile.

‘Dragons had always been covetous beings. Seeking, _needing,_ **_lusting_ **. They were hellraisers when they had found something that made their whole bodies ache with need and not one of them cared much for the scorching scars they left on the land in their pursuit of an obsession.They had been larger than life. Great wyrms who found pleasure in the destruction their greed sowed. Countless bodies were piled under them, countless empires, the wyrms took no stock of these things though. Faithfully blinded from the suffering they sowed by the ever faithful cowl of corruption and the whispers of the dark lord.

But the wyrms hadn’t always been so vile. At one point or another they had even been…’

Bilbo sighed. He pressed the palm of his hand into the bridge of his brow and eyed the quill, still dripping with dark ink, in his hand. After so many years, so close to the end, Bilbo had been called back. Back to the solemn desk and the old, now yellowed with age parchment that had been its companion for a long time. The hobbit sighed again and placed the pen back into the inkwell above the piece of parchment, and examined what he had written. He hadn’t thought of such things in a long time, not since the end of his first adventure and after he penned his first masterpiece. The thought of those times brought a solemn smile to his face, he had lost much (too much), but he had gained many things from that tragedy too. 

After so many stories from Gloin, Bilbo had traveled with him to meet Gimli and his wife. This had set off the remainder of the dwarves of Thorin’s company to whisk him away to introduce him to family or friends, or to be led on another adventure, though smaller in size, or to even indulge their attempts into integrating him into the dwarvish culture. Bilbo smiled at that memory, he could never quite get the hang of blacksmithing no matter how many of them had attempted tutoring him. And he had been content with that, allowed himself to be distracted from the aching of loss. But slowly, the remainders of the company became busy, whether it was to help Dain, the new king under the mountain, or to even lead their own company to set up a new colony. He had gone back to the Shire then and decided that such a tale of there and back again shouldn’t be forgotten. 

When he had gotten the news of the colony of Moria, he had felt a pain akin to that when he had been told the outcome of the battle of the five armies. Even more so when he learned of the demise of Balin, Oin, and Ori. He had returned to Erebor as quickly as he could, then, to be there for his dwarves who had lost so much(too much). (Frodo told him later, after his own adventure that the fellowship had found Balin’s tomb in Moria and the last recording of Ori in the Book of Mazarbul as Gimli had called it). After that he had remained in that mountain with Dwalin, Gloin, Dori, Nori, Bofur, and Bombur. Though he had rarely seen Nori, Dori, or Gloin during that time, all mourning another loss of family to the plagued mines of Moria while Dwalin only spared a curse to his brother’s idiocy of thinking that they could retake such a place. And then The Fellowship of the Ring had been created and the war began and Bilbo had lost track of them all. He could still remember the jovial feelings he had when he had visited the Ri’s, the amusement from Gloin’s tales, the comfort of being with bofur and bombur, and the steadiness he had felt when he adventured with Dwalin. Their absence made his heart ache- he had always treasured his company like they were the only things worth more than money or power. 

Bilbo sighed yet again, grimacing at the hand he hadn’t realized was smudging the ink across the parchment and wood of the desk. He stood up being mindful where he placed his hand and made his way slowly to the bathroom, taking note that it had become dusk while he was lost in his memories. The hallway and bathroom in BagEnd were dimly lit, the only lights were the candles scattered about the rooms. Bilbo quickly scrubbed as much ink off his hand before returning to the solemn desk. He stared for awhile at the words he had written. It _had_ been quite some time since he had dined to remember these things, and it brought on a tension that he couldn’t shake as his gaze remained locked on that page. Bilbo licked his lips, considered for only a second before he picked up the quill again and began writing anew.

Bilbo wrote for hours afterwards, words flowing and connecting without him even thinking or needing a pause. He hadn’t even had this kind of inspiration when had was writing his firsthand account of the company. The words were out like his breath and at some point the steady pace he had became fast, but not frantic. The rhythm matched with his heartbeat and the indescribable need to get these words out took over him.

It was morning when he finally set his pen down. Bilbo stared at the now covered parchment that laid bare his secrets and tales. The page had things he had never said, could never have said, had sworn to never say. It relieved him of a weight on his shoulders and he felt every muscle in his body that had been tense relax. Now Bilbo felt the effect hunching over a desk all night had and stood up to stretch. A yawn caught him and he realized dimly that he should get some amount of sleep before the day truly set in. He made his way out of his small study and sniffed out every candle on his way to bed, something in him felt relieved to finally have those words on paper (even though he had taken an oath to never repeat them). Bilbo encountered his room and wasted no time in climbing into the large plush mattress, not bothering to undress because he knew that he would still be busy when he awoke again, more to write, more to say, something to busy himself with to forget all his aches and pains. But at the same time it felt like there was nothing more, like he had said his peace and now he could finally truly rest. Bilbo slipped off into slumber quite easily.

He couldn’t tell whether he was awake or still dreaming. A field of soft grass waved softly and a light breeze tickled his now white curls across his face. The soft rolling slopes of the hills around him and the quiet trickle of a stream somewhere told him where he was before he even recognized it. A woman was beside him, petite (or as petite as one could get for her stature) and tanned, a wreath of flowers, leaves, twigs, and berries rested lightly on top of auburn hair. The woman slightly admired a leaf of some kind before noticing him watching her. Her smile was blinding and Bilbo almost fell over himself in his hurry to stand and bow.

“Lady Yavanna, I…”

“At peace noble one.” Yavannna’s eyes reflected a mirth that was plain on all her features as she gazed down at him. She shifted a moment and one large hand offered rested on the ground at Bilbo’s feet, the invitation was obvious. He shakily rested himself on her hand allowing his feet to dangle off the side as she lifted him higher and higher until he was finally eye level with her.

“You know, noble one, I have always been fond of your people, all of them are such hard working, kind people.” The mirth had still not left her eyes and Bilbo slightly fidgeted under her gaze, but that didn’t stop him from smiling sardonically at her. Yavanna’s laugh was like the coming of spring and birdsongs.

“I did not misspeak Bilbo Baggins.” He found himself nodding to that, looking off into the distance over the rows of hills. Bilbo didn't know why, but for some reason he didn’t feel any need to ask why or how he came to be here. Yavanna made a thoughtful noise and joined him in looking into the distance, she chuckled again. She began to stand from her seated position and Bilbo had to just hope she wouldn’t be too hasty in the motion as he was still dangling off the side of her hand.

“Well, while it is nice to have some company other than the others, there is a reason you’re here,” she was standing now and her smile grew softer now, not as brilliant, “how about you try again little noble one.”

Well, Bilbo thought, that’s pretty vague. But Yavanna didn’t seem to notice his confusion, she just continued smiling down at him. It was only when he looked up at her face that he noticed he was growing more tired and his vision was slowly growing darker, but Yavanna kept smiling at him.

“Hurry little noble one, forget your oath now for we are all in agreement on this.” Yavanna’s voice, lulled him into his growing exhaustion and last thing he saw before his vision went completely dark was the smiling faces of the valar.


	2. An old beginning

Bilbo woke with a start, his breath clouded where it came out of his mouth and he realized belatedly that it was freezing cold in his room. He quickly wrapped a thick quilt around himself as he slid from his bed, the floor was even colder than the air. As he moved to the door, Bilbo grabbed the candle on his bed-stand and readjusted his hold on his makeshift cloak. The door to his room creaked open, which was odd when he thought about it since he had fallen into the habit of leaving his door open, much to the chagrin of his dwarves when they had found his door wide open to his room in erebor.

No light poured from the windows, and Bilbo could hear the distinct sound of a harsh wind whipping at them. He slowly made his way towards his study, taking no note of the relatively smaller amount of books lining the walls and stacked in the corners of the room. The tender box sat on a table under the window of the study and he quickly grabbed it as he watched rain pelt against the glass. Bilbo assumed that a fierce storm had picked up while he slept and quickly went about lighting the candle he held, only after he was out of the study though. He proceeded to go into every room, until each had at least one candle illuminating it and when he was satisfied with it, he collapsed into a cushy armchair in the foyer.

Bilbo laid in that chair for a second before scrubbing the last remnants of blearyness from his eyes. He couldn’t quite remember his dream, but it felt like he had a weight off his chest so he didn’t think on it too hard. The candlelight dimly illuminated the room around him, and he took the time to trace the familiar shapes in it. A table here, a pile of books and old clippings there, a cabinet, a China set, eyes roved across even the high ceilings and the beams that crossed it. Bungo had often talked in length the process he had used to select the finest materials for BagEnd and then how he had went about building it himself. A smile crept across his face at those memories, before slightly receding. While yes every edge he had traced with his eyes had been the same, (sans a few things), something felt off. His home didn’t feel as… homely. Much like how it had been when he had first arrived on the doorstep of one Bungo and Belladonna Took-Baggins and even more so after their passings.

These were less fond memories, ones he would rather not remember if he was honest. Having had enough of memories and idle gazing, he slipped into the kitchen dodging some low hanging baskets and food stuffs that had been attached to the ceiling by means of twine. Tonight he decided he would treat himself and as such went to the specific high hanging herb, tightly wrapped with twine and plucked some of the leaves from it. He then went about pulling out a kettle, a store of water, and using the candle he brought with him to light the stove, lightly stoking it until the spark caught hold and danced across the dry kindling. 

Busy work, Bilbo had found, was something he was quite good at- he didn’t need to think too much on it and, well, it gave him something to do to take his mind off things. Often times during his adventure with the company he busied himself with helping Bombur, Bifur, and Bofur as they were usually the ones to prep dinner, collect wild grown herbs and food and to collect firewood, but he didn’t really need to scavenge for his favorite tea leaf nowadays. Frodo and the Gamgee boy had made sure to keep his stock full, so he never worried too much about making the trip to Bree. 

The kettle whistled sharply and Bilbo’s hand shot to pull it off and quickly get the scalding water into his cup. He waited a moment before slipping his finger into the handle already anticipating the warm feeling of the cup as he wrapped his other hand around it and walked back to his chair. He walked the longer way back to the foyer this time, wanting to check out the window of his door. (A habit he had picked up to make sure if he had any unannounced guests of the dwarven or wizardly type).

The hallway was much less worn than Bilbo remembered, years of foot traffic had dulled some of the flooring planks, but he assumed that the dim candle light contributed to the difference. And then he passed by an intersecting wall, a wall he usually reserved for a pinned up calendar. 

He glanced at it before walking a few paces. And then spun around quickly and snapped it from the wall with the hand not holding his tea. The parchment crinkled dangerously at the side as Bilbo focused on the words written on it. His hands slowly began to shake and Bilbo distantly registered a clattering on his left. The paper was dropped as Bilbo rocketed off to the bathroom, not bothering to grab a candle on his way, and flung open the door, blindly clutching at the vanity.

His eyes swirled, glinting unnaturally in the darkness. Bilbo looked different than he had for the past decades. What had been white was now back to a honey-dropped blonde, wrinkled and littered with age spots was now clear and smooth, and he was much plumper than he last had been. A choked sound barely escaped him, Bilbo crashed into the door frame and stumbled out into the hallway. The dancing shadows from the candles cast a waking ache in Bilbo and he now was sharply aware of the thundering, unrelenting rain and the biting cold. Shards of porcelain, crumpled and smeared paper were forgotten, the spill of tea tracked to the door by Bilbo.

He couldn’t feel himself, or take note of what he was doing. The image of himself and the date swirled in his head; Bilbo felt colder than he ever had before. Dangerously cold. A large stone came into view, and he dimly noted the dirt that was freshly upturned dirt and the water that mercilessly burned in his eyes. The carved letters had yet to be worn, and flowers had yet to be removed. His knees protested at his sudden drop, soft mud staining Bilbo’s pants.

At that time he remembered his dream, Yavanna and her kind, urging words and the revelation of what she truly meant hit him hard. A wiggling feeling of anticipation circuited through him unexpectedly and Bilbo truly understood every word she had uttered, repeating parts like it would change reality.

Today, Bilbo Baggins could be what he once was. An end to the beginning of what the Valar had planned for his kind and an old beginning for Bilbo himself. Anything and everything he had once and was feeling escaped him then with a sharp primal sound.


	3. new (old) friend

It was a crisp, late winter day when Bilbo sat down on the wooden bench outside of his cozy home and puffed on his pipe. 

The sky was mostly clear, dashed with a few fluffy clouds that frolicked across the sky as they heralded a cool breeze. And most of Hobbiton was already going about their early morning chores. The sounds of cooking and laughter floated along the foothills and trails, crescendoing when some hobbits who were more inclined for the mornings went about their day. Birdsongs and the singing were like accents to it all, complimenting the surreal painting that was the shire. And Bilbo felt like he could remain in this moment just relishing in the serenity of Hobbiton forever. 

So he tilted his head back and sunk deeper into the bench, allowing himself to be lulled into a light nap by the ambient sounds.

A group of fauntlings scampered by his fence, giggling to themselves before one of the taller ones noticed Bilbo out on his bench. The fauntling rushed over and hung himself off of the charcoal-colored fence, at least a tad mindful of the recent paint put onto it. Some of the others copied the fauntling, while others stood behind whispering to themselves

“Mister Bilbo, Mister Bilbo look what we got!” Bilbo slightly lifted his head and peered a single eye owlishly towards them. The boy was holding a partially eaten cobbler pie and the stains on some of the children’s hands and faces told him exactly who had been eating it. The children behind the boy peered over the fence at him.

A wide smile cracked his face.

“I see my lessons are helping quite nicely.” It was less of a question than he had meant for it to be, but nonetheless the fauntlings grinned and nodded their heads excitedly. The tallest one held the pie out over the fence and Bilbo couldn’t help but to stretch up and quickly pad over to it, taking the last bit that the fauntlings hadn’t taken and retreating back to his seat.

The fauntling retracted his arm then, and for awhile they continued to babble for a while after, talking of their exploits and the rumors around the shire. It was amusing as most stories were unfinished because multiple of the fauntlings would interrupt each other as they remembered something. Bilbo couldn’t help the fond smile that lit up his face as he passed on commentary on their antics and stories.

A yell from down the road, further into the market center of Hobbiton caught their attention. Bilbo lazily shifted his head to peer down the lane noting that some of the fauntlings had begun further down the road away from the source of the sound. A portly hobbit, (even for their standards), was charging his way up the road- red at the face and obviously fuming mad. The other hobbits around him had to scramble out of his way hastily or they would have probably been trampled by the angry hobbit. His head twisted around, gaze moving swiftly across the commerce before zeroing in on the noticeable crowd of fauntling in front of the only stained wood fence.

Bilbo could feel the glare from where he sat and he wondered why he was the immediate target. He’d only been indulging the children and sitting on his bench after all. The loud stomping came to a halt at the edge of his fence line and he only offered the other hobbit a curious glance before looking at the, now noticeably smaller, crowd of faunts. Only the braver ones of them were left, and Bilbo found that commendable.

“Bilbo Baggins,  _ how dare you _ encourage this kind of behavior!” The sigh he released was audible, very obviously exasperated. Some of the faunts giggled before quieting down from a glare shot their way by the new hobbit.

He punched his brow, pipe now long forgotten at his side. “To what do I owe the pleasure, mister Barrowes?”

The hobbit jabbed a finger in his direction. “You know exactly what  _ mister _ Baggins! You encourage the children to thieve and then have the gall to-”

“I believe I’ve come at a bad time.” The larger hobbit sputtered before turning on his heel to face whoever had interrupted him only to stop mid curse.

“Oh Gandalf, you’re a tad late.” Bilbo leaned back into his bench as set to lighting his pipe again as Gandalf the Grey ambled slowly towards them, the fauntlings who had all but slipped away from the scene rushing out to greet him. The man chuckled as the fauntlings pranced around him, thousands of questions out of their mouths and somehow he was still able to answer them all. As he drew closer and finally stopped, Gandalf leaned heavily on his staff peering down at Barrowes from beneath his hat.

Said hobbit looked between Gandalf and Bilbo then made a derisive noise and stomped away, but not before casting one more glare at Bilbo. Gandalf watched the hobbit leave amusedly, while Bilbo put his attention back to his pipe. It was quiet again, fauntlings having rushed off again on another escapade. To Bilbo it was almost peaceful-

“I see you’ve managed to make yourself quite popular.” Now it wasn’t. 

“I honestly don’t know what you mean, the fauntlings love me.” He puffed out a ring, closing his eyes as it disappeared into the blue sky.

“Yes yes, but not much else I assume.” Bilbo snorted.

“I honestly can’t see why they don’t like me, I’m an absolute delight to be around.” Gandalf only hummed at that. The gate of his fence creaked open, clothing rustled and then he felt the heavy weight of the man next to him.

He peeked open an eye at him- Gandalf was watching over the expanse of Hobbiton, seeing all and nothing at the same time. It was a moment before he pulled out a pipe too, lighting it quietly as the quiet chatter of the Shire returned.

“I believe you already know why I am here, Bilbo Baggins.” He turned away from the wizard, closing his eyes again.

“Indeed I do.” The leaves gently murmured above their head as the wind danced again, swaying to the tune of the whistling grass. Bilbo and Gandalf both understood their message.

The hobbit sighed as he stood up, joints groaning at his inactivity for so long.  _ Too _ long. He wiped his hands across his trousers and took the pipe from his mouth. Gandalf sighed behind him.

Bilbo was already halfway to his door when he heard the quiet call- “The valar work in mysterious ways.” 

He nodded as he wrapped a hand around the door knob. “What time?” He called back and he could almost feel the grin Gandalf shot him.

“Same as last time my dear fellow.” Bilbo opened the door and stepped through, not offering a glance back. It was already half closed when he halted the movement, sending Gandalf a look who looked up to meet it. 

“Don’t mark the door or fence, they were just painted,” he waved a hand at the wizard, “I put up a sign a day ago- mark that.”

He closed the door to a quiet chuckle.


End file.
